Fritjof's winter coat had come in thick and warm, the downy undercoat filling the space between the guard hairs, giving him a poofy look he did not have in summer. The black fringe over the tawny and cream helps him to blend in with the shadowy forest. An odd sort of restless nature has consumed his waking hours with the shorter days and longer nights. A family, something more... something primal... instinct. And yet he has no imprint or mate. Perhaps in the future he will find these things, with the new stability slowly gathering in his life.
Snow is falling lightly. No real fear of a blizzard or being cut off, as accumulation is low, and white out conditions are far from being achieved. It is more beautiful than dangerous. Large fat flakes set against a navy sky, drifting gently. He is not sure what he is looking for, or why he is out here. It seems to be a wanderlust habit, hard lost, despite his love of Taviora.
He lifts his nose to the sky and lets out a singular note, expressing joy, fullness, life. He doubts anyone can hear it, but it is not necessarily meant for anyone else. Just a release, a way to let the universe in on how he is feeling. Though he is an insignificant speck in the grand scheme, he is happy to be alive. The green sparks set in the amber of his eyes catch the reflected moonlight from the snow. While he has never been a handsome or unique wolf, here almost feels it here, set apart by the slight differences between him and those born within Moladion. Or perhaps he is fulling just a bit full of himself. |